


No Man Lives Forever, Commander

by Who_Watches_the_Watchman



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Mentions of succession, Vetinari plans, spoilers for night watch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-29 00:35:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6351865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Who_Watches_the_Watchman/pseuds/Who_Watches_the_Watchman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vimes hates the upper crust. He especially hates their parties. And the Patrician. Him most of all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Man Lives Forever, Commander

**Author's Note:**

> I desperately want to write Vimes/Vetinari. The only problem is that Vimes is about as emotionally accessible as a boulder and Vetinari's not much better. Stay with me, we'll get there in the end.

It was almost painful.

No, strike that. It _was_ painful.

Vimes had never really intended on attending Lady Rust’s eighteenth birthday party. He had expected Carrot to bail him out with news of a murder or a burglary or failing that, some interesting graffiti.

Nothing. He suspected that Sybil had something to do with that. She was, for some reason that escaped Vimes, more feared in the Watch than he was and his Watchmen unfailingly deferred to her before him.

It would almost have been funny if it wasn’t for parties like this because, when he really needed them, they failed to come through.

Now, he was standing against the wall, holding a glass of something not even vaguely alcoholic in one hand and studying the people around him. Sybil had ordered him into his dress uniform but he’d held out on the tights and had won for once.

Anhk-Morpork’s high society was leaving him alone for the moment but at any minute, he just knew one of them was going to turn and see him and the words–

“Ah, Sir Samuel.”

–would come flowing from someone’s lips.

Vimes sighed silently. Sometimes, he really hated being right. He turned his head, opening his mouth to reply and choked when he saw who was standing beside him.

Lord Vetinari looked… like he always did. He couldn’t be parted from his black clothes to save his life and there wasn’t a strand of hair out of place, most likely because the only time that he ever came into contact with wind was from the Palace to his carriage and from the carriage to whatever social event he was attending and back again.

Vetinari raised an eyebrow at him and looked amused. “You seem surprised, your grace.”

“Didn’t think you ever attended functions like this,” Vimes growled, wishing for a cigar.

“The Rusts are a very old family, Sir Samuel. It would be rude of me to refuse an invitation.”

“We _couldn’t_ have that.”

“There are… formalities to be observed, Vimes,” Vetinari said, dropping the honorific for once. “Patricians aren’t exempt any more than ordinary people.” Then apparently deciding to change the subject turned his head and looked out into the crowd, among the somber suits and peacock dresses and shimmering jewels. “Lady Sybil is positively glowing tonight. Your son is not tiring her, then?”

“Purity’s helped,” Vimes grunted.

Vetinari’s lips twitched slightly. “Ah, that would be the name of your maid, yes?”

 _Like you don’t know already,_ Vimes thought. “Yeah.”

“He’s eight months now, I understand.” Vetinari mused, not taking his gaze away from the crowd of people. “I suppose I should be concerned now that there are now two Vimes in the world.”

Vimes didn’t bother to answer that. He knew when the Patrician was looking to get under his skin.

“He would do well at the Assassin’s Guild, I suspect,” Vetinari went on and Vimes’ head snapped around without his permission to stare at the man.

“The hell he will,” Vimes growled, his eyes narrowing.

“I know your feelings about Assassins, Sir Samuel, but it is the highest education that Anhk-Morpork and consequently the Disc offers–”

“My son will be trained by Assassins over my dead body.”

“You will send him to another Guild then?”

Vimes didn’t answer. In truth, he didn’t know what they were going to do about Young Sam’s future and it felt far too earlier to be discussing it. With this man especially. He glared, crossing his arms over his chest as he frowned at the man. “Since when do you care what my son does?” He demanded sharply but in a low voice so that the people around them wouldn’t hear.

Vetinari was silent, not looking at Vimes and a sudden nasty feeling built in the pit of Vimes’ stomach.

“Perhaps this is a conversation for another day,” Vetinari began after what felt like ages.

“Another day? Another day?” Vimes demanded and could hear his voice rising even as he struggled to keep it under control. He forced himself to stop and take several deep breaths when several people glanced their way and watched curiously. “No, this is a conversation for never. Sam’s future is not your business. Not at all!”

He stalked away before he could say something that he’d regret and left Vetinari standing there. He found Sybil and stayed with her until he’d calmed down enough to carry on a semi non-threatening conversation.

 

Vetinari remained by the wall for a few moments after Vimes had left then moved back into the crowd, stopping to speak to a few people before moving on.

He signaled to Drumknott not long after, and took his leave of Lady Rust. He was met at the door by his carriage. The footman opened the door and he climbed in and settled onto the seat, laying his cane across his lap.

“Commander Vimes did not respond well, my lord?” Drumknott asked.

“He did not care for the idea of his son being trained as an Assassin, Drumknott. I cannot imagine his reaction if he knew what I had in mind.”

There was a moment of silence then Drumknott said, “I still don’t think that there’s any need for you to be thinking about succession, my lord.”

Vetinari sighed, leaning back against the seat. “Your faith in my immortality is breath-taking, Drumknott but no man lives forever.” He rubbed his leg thoughtfully. “A fact that I’ve been reminded of a great deal in the past few years.”

“Still, Vimes’ son? He’s only a baby, my lord.”

“He is a Vimes, Drumknott. I think in time, that will be all he needs.”

~~~*~~~

Vetinari had sometimes mused on the different forms of affection. People used the word ‘love’ to describe so many different things. But the affection one felt for a dog was not the same one could feel for a person and the love might have for a family member was not the same as the love one would have for a friend.

For instance, Vetinari loved his aunt; his family. He loved Wuffles; his dog. He loved Drumknott; his secretary and friend.

He’d often wondered what the difference would be for a lover. He’d seen couples in love and scoffed at them and their actions. Didn’t they know how embarrassing they were?

Vetinari had been sixteen when he’d felt something that he judged to more than platonic. When he’d seen a man control a crowd with nothing more than a mug of coco in his hands. A man his aunt said could read the streets through the soles of his boots. A man who, in a few short days, changed the lives of many and saved some sanity in a mad world.

But then the man was dead and his feelings were shoved aside and ignored because what could be done about it now?

He’d felt it again when Samuel Vimes stood between him and a dragon but then Vimes was marrying one of his oldest friends and this time those feelings had to be denied, categorized, and shoved aside again.

And then he’d looked across a graveyard and seen John Keel in the eyes of Samuel Vimes and had known that, if he let them, these emotions would destroy him.

Leonard knew. He thought it was intriguing and fascinating but as was the case with everything with Leonard, it only held his interest for twenty minutes before he was moving on to a new invention that was supposed to heat his tea up in seconds.

Vetinari knew how to control himself. It was the basis of his life and his role as Patrician. He was in control not only of himself but every situation that he was ever involved in. This was how he lived his life and nothing would ever interrupt it. Even Vimes, was indirectly controlled. He was so fascinatingly unpredictable that Vetinari couldn’t resist taking advantage of it.

Vimes. A Watchman. Then a captain. Then a commander. Then a duke. It was amusing to hand him more titles and see the man fume and curse him for every single one.

And now, there was a young Vimes. With all the breeding of a Ramkins and all the strength of a Vimes.

He would, Vetinari was certain, make a fine Patrician.

But perhaps it would be best to be outside the city when Vimes discovered his intentions.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, there are no AU's with these characters. This could be the start of something fun...


End file.
